


pendulums & skin

by BabaTunji



Category: Black Panther (2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cousin Incest, F/F, M/M, Multi, OT3, Recreational Drug Use, Shotgunning, This Is Not A Coercive Band-aid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-03
Updated: 2018-04-03
Packaged: 2019-04-17 19:48:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14196426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BabaTunji/pseuds/BabaTunji
Summary: N'Jadaka grows up in Wakanda. Indulgent Canon Divergence. Da OT3 vs. the world.





	pendulums & skin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AgentMal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgentMal/gifts), [mahalshairyballs](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=mahalshairyballs).



> This would not have existed if not for AgentMal. I fail at writing PWP but we had fun anyway. Special shout out to mahalshairyballs, baetchalla, selfinduced (shrii), and all da homies, who feed my horny.  
> This is set during the canon time but T’Challa and everyone else is younger. Just for plot purposes.  
> Gift fic for mahalshairyballs, "A long OT3 story which focus on Nakia and N’Jadaka’s relationship and ideological differences in how to best help oppressed people around the world."

-  
Debriefing after missions is something N'Jadaka usually tries to go through as fast as possible. His missions as an active War Dog took him all over and left him little time to himself or for the people he cared about. But he knew his calling and he tried to make it work. Currently he was settled in a holding area for incoming agents and his team lead from the latest mission, Uche was reviewing his report. The border tribe woman was stocky in build and an easygoing person to follow. He liked working with her usually, though she was taking much more time than Erik thought was honestly necessary to break down the footage of the mission and his notes. The mission had been a success, even with a shaky extraction process due to the nature of their assignment. The intel gathered had been worth the hassle.

He’s brought out of the haze of essentially reliving his mission by the soft buzz of his kimoyo beads. While there were many things he missed when he left Wakanda, the technological marvel that were kimoyo beads was easily in the top three. He flashes discreetly through a local weather notification to see he has a message from T'Challa. "Nakia tells me you are home."

He looks up casually after reading, making sure Uche was still focused on his report. The way he was seated, he could easily mask his use of the beads, and still appear attentive. So he shoots back, "How does she always know?"

After responding he flicks through his other messages. They’re mostly from his baby cousin Shuri. Music, texts, and visuals, videos mainly of T'Challa, a paper she would be publishing soon, and one particularly pointed message on staying out of her experimental code files. He listens or watches the media for a few moments, or skims the text, before moving on; Deciding to come back to each when he found time later. He keeps an ear out for any questions or comments, Uche might make but allows himself to immerse back into Wakandan news, media and technology.

T'Challa responds not long after, "I don’t bother asking anymore. When will you be done with debriefing?" He pauses the audio, soft in his earpiece, from Shuri about an idea for improving the vibranium infused alloys common in kimoyo beads. He turns the text over in his head. He and T'Challa hadn't been on the best of terms, when he had left for his mission.

He had grown up beside T'Challa since he had been three years old and T'Challa seven. Born in Oakland, his mother, Lisa Stevens, had been killed during a non-violent protest, and his father had sent him away to Wakanda shortly after. 

As a young kid, he had cried a lot, homesick and missing his dad. He’d reacted to Wakanda pretty badly, quickly gaining the reputation of a mean crybaby. T’Challa had loved him anyway. The older boy had always made an effort to include him even when he probably shouldn't have. He had comforted N’Jadaka with patience that had grated on him at the time. He hadn’t wanted T’Challa’s pity or his constant attempts to comfort him. He had wanted his dad, his mom, his home. Eventually, he’d grown accustom to T’Challa's way of doing things. 

Though N’Jadaka knows now he’d been different. Even to a bleeding heart like T’Challa, the way their relationship had formed, it hadn’t been just T’Challa being nice to his baby cousin. He tries not to think too much about what T’Challa had seen in him back when he’d been little more than a crybaby and a very mean kid. He knows now, people had teased or chided T’Challa for the way he’d doted on him. To the point that he was both jokingly and seriously referred to as T’Challa’s omncinci, meaning little one. For a long time their relationship had been one of brothers, something which most people had supported. It didn't become romantic till he was nearly sixteen and gotten tired of watching T'Challa make faces at Nakia. 

As adults, things hadn’t changed too much. Even with his work taking him out of Wakanda frequently, T’Challa still looked after him. He had a closer relationship with Nakia, and the three shared a bed, meals, along with the rare moment together outside of their respective duties. Though at 25 to Nakia’s 27 and T'Challa’s 29, he finds himself more and more at odds with his cousin. It was hard to hold a grudge against T'Challa, he was very likable. But they were very different people and as T'Challa’s coronation loomed ever closer, those differences became more apparent to N’Jadaka. Mainly at this point in their relationship, he knew better than to talk politics with T'Challa. 

The apathy to the rest of the world, particularly to nations, and people just like them, it made him angry. He just didn't get how Wakanda could consume media, slang, food, fuck even social justice rhetoric from the rest of the African diaspora and not give back. Particularly in the case of Black Americans, who were the originators for most of modern pop culture. Rock, jazz, hip hop, fashion. So much was attributed to people whom the world continually sought to dehumanize, erase, and then steal from. 

N'Jadaka barely remembered his mom and his memories of his dad were colored with the realization that his dad was considered a traitor by his own people, but those facts did not make their actions any less honorable in N’Jadaka’s eyes. Even if he knew they should, by Wakandan standards. Though T’Challa had never made N’Jadaka feel less than for his father’s actions or for not being born on Wakandan soil. However there was a disconnect between his love for N’Jadaka and how far he empathized with people around the world just like N’Jadaka. 

He thinks back to one of their more recent disagreements.

He’d been working out, mostly floor exercises with some added weights to challenge him. T’Challa had walked in; the man liked to watch him sometimes, he knew. The song, “2 Phones,” by an American rapper, Kevin Gates, had been playing and T’Challa had made a comment on why he liked the genre so much. This had led to a frustrating conversation on why N’Jakada bothered with foreign music and news. At some point during the conversation he decides to try and show T’Challa what he meant. 

He chose the song ‘DNA.’ by Kendrick Lamar, still focused on his workout but rapping along. 

“I got, I got, I got, I got  
Loyalty, got royalty inside my DNA  
Cocaine quarter piece, got war and peace inside my DNA  
I got power, poison, pain and joy inside my DNA  
I got hustle though, ambition, flow, inside my DNA  
I was born like this, since one like this  
Immaculate conception  
I transform like this, perform like this  
Was Yeshua's new weapon  
I don’t contemplate, I meditate, then off your fucking head  
This that put-the-kids-to-bed  
This that I got, I got, I got, I got  
Realness, I just kill shit 'cause it's in my DNA  
I got millions, I got riches buildin’ in my DNA  
I got dark, I got evil, that rot inside my DNA  
I got off, I got troublesome, heart inside my DNA  
I just win again, then win again like Wimbledon, I serve  
Yeah, that's him again, the sound that engine in is like a bird  
You see fireworks and Corvette tire skrrt the boulevard  
I know how you work, I know just who you are”

He made sure to enunciate the parts relevant to him, reminding T’Challa of his mother’s heritage and background as well as his father's heritage. He was Wakandan but also a black boy from Oakland. 

The next verse he made sure to look T'Challa in the eyes when he rapped along, fearless. 

“See, you's a, you's a, you's a  
Bitch, your hormones prolly switch inside your DNA  
Problem is, all that sucker shit inside your DNA  
Daddy prolly snitched, heritage inside your DNA  
Backbone don't exist, born outside a jellyfish, I gauge  
See, my pedigree most definitely don't tolerate the front  
Shit I've been through prolly offend you  
This is Paula’s oldest son  
I know murder, conviction  
Burners, boosters, burglars, ballers, dead, redemption  
Scholars, fathers dead with kids  
And I wish I was fed forgiveness  
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, soldier’s DNA  
Born inside the beast  
My expertise checked out in second grade  
When I was 9, on cell, motel, we didn't have nowhere to stay  
At 29, I’ve done so well, hit cartwheel in my estate  
And I'm gon' shine like I'm supposed to  
Antisocial, extrovert  
And excellent mean the extra work  
And absentness what the fuck you heard  
And pessimists never struck my nerve  
And that’s a riff, gonna plead this case  
The reason my power's here on earth  
Salute the truth, when the prophet say”

His own father had betrayed Wakanda because he believed, in action and not cowardice. The older he grew, the more he agreed. The last verse he rapped with emotion, close to tears for all the people within the black and African diaspora Wakanda forgot when they mention their advancement and technology. 

“Tell me somethin'  
You mothafuckas can't tell me nothin'  
I'd rather die than to listen to you  
My DNA not for imitation  
Your DNA an abomination  
This how it is when you're in the Matrix  
Dodgin' bullets, reapin' what you sow  
And stackin' up the footage, livin' on the go  
And sleepin' in a villa  
Sippin' from a Grammy and walkin' in the buildin'  
Diamond in the ceilin', marble on the floors  
Beach inside the window, peekin' out the window  
Baby in the pool, godfather goals  
Only Lord knows, I've been goin' hammer  
Dodgin' paparazzi, freakin' through the cameras  
Eat at Four Daughters, Brock wearin' sandals  
Yoga on a Monday, stretchin' to Nirvana  
Watchin' all the snakes, curvin' all the fakes  
Phone never on, I don't conversate  
I don't compromise, I just penetrate  
Sex, money, murder—these are the breaks  
These are the times, level number 9  
Look up in the sky, 10 is on the way  
Sentence on the way, killings on the way  
Motherfucker, I got winners on the way  
You ain't shit without a body on your belt  
You ain't shit without a ticket on your plate  
You ain't sick enough to pull it on yourself  
You ain't rich enough to hit the lot and skate  
Tell me when destruction gonna be my fate  
Gonna be your fate, gonna be our faith  
Peace to the world, let it rotate  
Sex, money, murder—our DNA“

When the song ended T’Challa just stared at him for a long time. N’Jadaka oscillated between the arousal he felt at showing off for his cousin and the self-righteous fury that sometimes overtook him when he allowed himself to think too long on what reality was like for so many people living outside of Wakanda. 

Later, when they’d retired to bed, T’Challa tells him, “That song. It isn’t you. We saved you from that.” The conviction T’Challa felt at those words fanning a quiet anger in N'Jadaka that never seemed to go away. That night they don't sleep together because they get into a huge argument. His parting shot being, “Wakanda saved me. You saved me. I don’t know what my childhood would have been like if my dad hadn’t brought me here… If your father hadn't let me stay. But there are millions more you guys left behind.”

Now, sitting in the debriefing room, fresh from a 7 week long mission, considering how he wanted to spend his first night back, he weighed his options. He doesn't want to see T'Challa. Doesn't want to be reminded of everything his Dad had fought for and how flawed Wakanda, great as it was could be. He honestly wants to visit Shuri at her labs first. Ask some questions, see whatever she was working on, tease her a bit, too. Based on some of her more erratic messages, he guessed she had a crush on a merchant tribe girl whom she refused to name. 

But he also knew it would be best to visit T'Challa first now that he was home before anything else. Even if his cousin drove him crazy with his dedication to keeping Wakanda isolated, he did want to see him. Knowing T'Challa’s ridiculous schedule, this would probably be the only time they saw each other outside of shared meals and general council meetings. Also if he didn’t make an attempt, Nakia would hunt him down and make sure he made the time. 

So he responds, “I’ll meet you in 20.” He knows it would take closer to half an hour before he would be free but he expected T'Challa would also be similarly held up.

 

\-----

He arrives at the private hookah parlor an hour after he said he would but T'Challa is waiting and there's food. He tries not to smile too wide at the sight of all the food; he hadn’t had the chance to do more than shower after the debrief. This would be his first meal back home, the only place where food tasted like it should. 

Originally seated at a low table, T'Challa stands to greet him and N'Jadaka reaches to embrace him in turn. The other man’s hands wrap him tightly. Still holding him, T'Challa murmurs into his ear, “Your hair has grown quite a bit. Will you let me braid it for you at some point?” 

He kind of hates how much T'Challa's embrace feels like home. He lets himself laugh and slowly detaches from T'Challa’s embrace. “Maybe. Nakia couldn’t join us?” 

T'Challa’s face turns apologetic, “She said she would find you later tomorrow.” Erik adds two days to that promise. Nakia's duties as a veteran War Dog, and the River Tribe’s champion kept her very busy. Nodding in response he pulls T'Challa by the wrist back towards the table and the food. 

The first few minutes pass in silence as they eat. He’s reminded of years of shared meals just like this, though more recently Shuri would have been present. T'Challa occasionally responding to messages from his kimoyo beads, picks at some of the sweeter food items. He feels himself relax just a bit more, content to savor the dishes T'Challa had chosen, enjoying the quiet and occasional murmur from his cousin’s beads. A warm feeling settling over him. He’d been a whole hour later than expected and yet T’Challa had still waited. Ordering his favorite foods, hugged him like they hadn't had one of their more explosive fights during their last time together. Logically, he knows T'Challa cares about him, even if they disagree more often than not. But in moments like this, it doesn't feel like an anvil on his back. 

When he'd been much younger it'd been easier to see T’Challa as a rival and a weird often annoying older brother. As teens, T’Challa was still that annoying older brother, but who sometimes made N’Jadaka feel weird things. When they'd gotten together it'd been a mind trip at times, the switch from weird older brother figure to boyfriend and giver of good kisses... among other things. As adults they’d settled into an understanding as partners and lovers, who disagreed a lot. It made for great sex, but rocky everything else. Nakia had made it clear early on she would not join in, on their regular tug-of-war. Whether the subject was politics, or Shuri going to an international conference. Nakia as a rule avoided getting caught up in their disagreements. She was not, however, above playing them off each other till they ‘kissed and made up.’ It was a familiar cycle at this point. 

They finish eating, and N'Jadaka follows T'Challa to the entertainment partition of the private lounge. They settle on plush cushions around a round low table. There are already bottles of alcohol on the table. He grabs one around the same time T'Challa reaches for him. His cousin’s hands are possessive and familiar as they wrap around his left hand, not occupied with a bottle. T'Challa dared him with his eyes to pull away. As usual in their special game of chicken, he doesn't. He stays perfectly relaxed as T’Challa leans into his side and begins to talk about some of the current local events, Shuri’s own progress and his mother’s ongoing research.

He's mostly quiet except to make the occasional comment. Now and again, passing the bottle to T’Challa to drink. Not long after they've gotten comfortable, the side door slides open and an attendant steps in with a sizable hookah pipe. He watches through lidded eyes as she inhales softly on the mouthpiece then exhales in small soft rings, starting the pipe. She smiles warmly at both of them before, setting the pipe down carefully on the table then leaving.

T'Challa takes the first pull from the hookah line. He watches the man’s lips draw deeply then expel the vapor in a sweet smelling cloud. T'Challa’s eyes were warm but mischievous, watching N'Jadaka watch him. T'Challa leans closer before his next pull. Beckoning with his left hand, this time when he draws deeply he doesn’t expel it. Holding the vapor carefully in, cheeks puffed then leaning further into N'Jadaka’s space he pushes the vapor into N'Jadaka's mouth. He inhales the smoke slowly as their lips meet.

Slowly the room filled with the pleasant smell of the vapor. They pass the line back and forth, occasionally shotgunning the vapor. He can feel the enhanced kush taking effect when he stares at T'Challa and doesn't feel the need to look away. His senses focus on the music now playing, a Nigerian musician, named Brymo, who Nakia liked and had introduced to T'Challa. The song, ‘Good Morning’ makes him want to pull T’Challa even closer. Eventually, T'Challa breaks the silence.

“The council is strongly considering separating the roles of Black Panther and King.” 

N'Jadaka does not react at first, mind turning over the implications of his cousin’s words. 

“Why? It’s tradition.”

His cousin doesn’t answer. N'Jadaka asked the question he really means. 

“Why are you telling me this?”

T’Challa’s response stank of finality and promised nothing good.

“If I am asked to lay down the mantle of Black Panther, I want you to be my champion for the trials.”

N'Jadaka reacts slowly, even as T'Challa’s grip on his hand tightens. 

“Why? You know I--”

His cousin cut him off, “You do not have to say yes or no now. I am just informing you--” 

N'Jadaka jerked his hand away or tried to, but T'Challa’s grip was tight. 

“If the council gets their way, I’m not letting you tie me down.”

This time T'Challa lets go. The hurt in his eyes was something N'Jadaka could ignore, but his history with T'Challa had taught him to be wary. He had plans beyond Wakanda, beyond well meaning but ultimately useless isolation. Up till then, they had been practically in each other’s laps. Now they faced each other, some distance between them.

“Is that how you see our relationship, N'Jadaka?” His cousin pronounced his name softly, with all the emotions he himself was learning to bury.

He went with the truth, turning his eyes away. 

“There is very little I would not do for you, but please don’t ask me to do this. I can’t stay within Wakanda’s borders while...” He trails off and regroups. This part at least was an old and worn conversation. T'Challa knew why N’Jadaka pushed himself so. He knew what drove his younger cousin, yet he still asked that N’Jadaka put all of that aside for him.

“Why not Nakia?” A part of him winces at the ire that would no doubt follow, once she learned about the news and his initial reaction. He wonders then if T'Challa had already asked her; Wonders if she'd laughed when she refused. 

“She is not you. Besides, someday when the stars align, and the moon is just right, she might just agree to be our Queen.” 

T’Challa’s words are a compliment to N’Jadaka’s own growing notoriety as a warrior and War Dog. It was also a weak attempt at humor. 

Still, the words make him want to laugh and he has to fight the urge. This wasn't funny. This was T'Challa once again making decisions for the both of them. Though T'Challa’s optimism was something that would never fail to amuse him. However irritating it was endearingly, T’Challa. 

“I don’t want to talk about this.” He says finally. T'Challa nods then reaches for the hookah line. Before he starts to draw from the pipe, he pauses, then askes N’Jadaka to come close. 

T'Challa’s voice is warm now, hurt forgotten, in its place, an unambiguous invitation. N'Jadaka knows what's being offered, even as he weighs whether he should accept. The relationship between them was not an easy one, and sometimes he wonders why he keeps trying. T'Challa’s duty was first to Wakanda as its prince and future King. Despite what everyone predicts or thinks, He did not want to be Prince Consort, the same way Nakia had so far dodged and weaved around what many believed to be her inevitable position as Queen. 

Thinking about the inevitability of his and Nakia's future makes the lust he feels for T'Challa cool. This was something at least that united both him and Nakia besides their own personal activism. She more than anyone seemed to understand his drive, why he couldn't just stay in Wakanda and hold court with his cousin. She had so much empathy for women and children around the world who were denied their person hood. So she understood, on some level, his anger at the oppression of their own people whom Wakanda ignored. He wishes then that she had joined them today. Her presence was usually a soothing one, acting as a buffer for his and T'Challa's own muddied history. 

Nakia was not N’Jadaka. Not cousin to the King’s son and son of a traitor prince. Not beholden to succession lines and debts owed. Not T’Challa’s omncinci. She was T’Challa’s heart. Free to be so in ways N’Jadaka was not. He wasn’t a coward; he understood his duty. He knew if Wakanda accepted him, loved him despite his father’s wrongs, it was because their prince and future King had loved N’Jadaka first.

So when he leans in, T'Challa’s responding smile making his gut clench and his cock twitch, the resentment isn't as strong as it could be.

This time, when T'Challa blows the vapor into his mouth, they don't separate after. He inhales easily, and then they kiss. T'Challa’s hands pull him closer, and N'Jadaka he rearranges himself to straddle the other man’s lap.

He thinks a bit sardonic, as his hands move to undress T'Challa, tugging the man’s informal dress top up and above his head; They were finally at the kiss and make up part of their relationship cycle. Once his arms are freed, T'Challa drags long fingers down his torso to his ass, pressing down against N'Jadaka's muscular thighs while grinding up with intent.

He pulls away from their kiss to bite T'Challa’s ear, “Where’s the lube, I didn’t prepare myself…” There’s an awkward shuffle then T’Challa catching on, rises and begins to strip, comically fast. He scans the nearby vicinity of throw pillows and lounge area for the lube. Once located, he turns to T’Challa, his eyes that of a man who intended to make him very glad to have come. Typically he preferred to give, to watch T'Challa’s powerful body take all of him, but tonight he felt… different. 

He isn’t in the mood to be teased or be separated from T'Challa’s mouth. So he strips quickly, back to his cousin. He knows T’Challa had probably come prepared to receive, but Erik wants to be fucked tonight. 

T'Challa embraces him from behind, once he kicks off his slacks, one hand wrapping around his cock the other around his mouth. 

“Can you keep quiet for me? I don’t think I would be able to stop if we were interrupted.” 

N'Jadaka’s cock hardens at T'Challa’s words. They’ve gotten noise complaints in the past, both of them equal offenders. But the thought of someone entering… someone seeing. It makes heat rise to his face and his cock harder.

In response, N’Jadaka grinds back against the other man, hands moving to uncover T'Challa’s hand on his mouth. 

“Stop talking and fuck me.”

T'Challa, of course, does not. Pulling N'Jadaka to face him, they fall back into the cushions. T'Challa's hand wraps once more around the base of his cousin’s cock and his mouth descends slowly down onto the tip, his eyes unblinking. 

He groans in response, one hand reaching for T'Challa’s face. Whether to push T’Challa off or encourage him to stay down he doesn’t know. T'Challa’s hand moves quickly to grab his hand and pin it down by his side, curbing the younger man’s attempt at control. 

T’Challa lifts his head briefly after another attempt, voice playful but warning. “If you do not remain still, I will restrain you.” The words are spoken roughly, carrying dark undertones filled with promise. He fights another loud groan as T'Challa’s lips descend once again onto his cock. Restraints were something he hated and T'Challa knows that. He forces himself to still, watching the motion of T'Challa’s mouth, his tongue. The man knew how to tease him, but thankfully does not. Taking N'Jadaka deep each time, his throat constricts almost painfully around the top of N'Jadaka’s cock. He feels the blood pooling in his cock, even as his orgasm draws nearer. He doesn’t want to come so soon, but T'Challa is giving him no other option. 

His balls draw and he lets out a warning groan, and the hand on his cock moves to tug none too gently at his balls. N’Jadaka grunts in frustration as the painful intervention staves off the orgasm and T'Challa pulls off wetly. His eyes are teasing and he moves away from N'Jadaka, reaching for the container of lubricant.

“Let me prepare you.” T’challa says the words so innocently, as if they were talking about the weather, and N'Jadaka’s cock gives another heated jolt. He knows better than to agree, T'Challa always took too long, more intent on his reactions and making him come than the eventual penetrative act. But, disorientated with lust and the kush in his lungs making him feel lighter, more free than usual, he agrees. Then as his thoughts catch up to him, he groans inwardly and starts mentally preparing for a very painful and overstimulated orgasm. 

N'Jadaka shifts to turn onto his stomach, legs spread for T'Challa. “Nakia and I have been testing a new toy, I think you’ll like it. But she’s made me promise to wait…” T'Challa’s words trail off as he massages the globes of N'Jadaka’s ass. Eventually, trailing up from N'Jadaka’s heavy balls, past his taint to press into him gently, as if this was his first time and he needed tender attention. 

N'Jadaka growls in frustration, but T'Challa’s earlier promise of restraint keeps him in check. He could be still, he could be quiet, but he wouldn’t play fair. 

“This happening before or after she watches me wreck your ass?” He says the words playfully knowing good and well how much T'Challa loved when he said vulgar shit.

T'Challa, in response, pauses, then resumes his exploration adding another finger and pinching N'Jadaka’s left cheek hard, in warning. N'Jadaka of course doesn’t heed the warning. 

“Watching you take my fucking fist, and still want more fuck—“ 

T'Challa presses a third finger and twists, honing in on N'Jadaka’s prostate and applying pressure. N'Jadaka chokes on his own tongue, pressing back onto T'Challa’s fingers.

When he finally speaks it’s choked but victorious, “Fuuucck, yea. Know you wanna fuck me, stop playing around and do it.” 

T'Challa’s fingers spread wider then withdraw, making N'Jadaka groan with anticipation. T’Challa delivers a few fast and hard smacks to N’Jadaka’s ass, making him tense even more with anticipation. But then that anticipation dies a swift death when T'Challa’s hands move to spread his ass cheeks apart and the man’s tongue presses lightly around his hole. 

N’Jadaka feels the need to cry. This was just cruel and unusual punishment. He wanted to get fucked, to feel that fullness that made his cock twitch and his mind blissfully quiet. Not die of orgasm denial.

“Fuuuuck I hate you…” The words are said with the acceptance and resolve of a hanged man. A very, very, very frustrated hanged man.

T'Challa doesn’t respond, but he knows the man is smiling the smile of someone who knows he’s won yet again at a game in which he had a longstanding lead.

What follows is the longest 20 minutes of N'Jadaka’s life. He knows now that T'Challa would definitely restrain him if he tried too hard to squirm away. He rides the unforgiving wave of being brought oh so fucking close to coming and yet not having enough stimulation to get there. At first he’s shuddering and tense, biting back noise and stifling his thrashing. Six minutes into it, he lets his torso slump forward and submits fully to T'Challa’s ministration. After that the man’s hands settle like manacles on N'Jadaka’s legs, keeping him in place. Thankfully most of the sounds he’s making are muffled by the soft, thick cushions. Even so, he struggles to stay still and just allow T'Challa to ever so gently wreck him. 

When T'Challa finally pulls away for longer than a few moments. N'Jadaka squirms bodily away, rolling onto his side, and dares the man with his eyes to restrain him. He was past talking. He wanted T'Challa’s cock now.

T'Challa, deciding to be merciful, does just that. Blanketing N'Jadaka with his own body, chest to chest, one hand on his own cock, stroking slowly, the other urges N'Jadaka’s legs apart. 

Now, lying facing each other on their sides, T'Challa slots his way between N'Jadaka’s legs, lifting one of N'Jadaka’s legs up and out of the way, and holding it there. The man presses the head of his cock against the slick mess of lube and saliva around N'Jadaka’s entrance. 

Playful, he pushes his cockhead in, then pulls back out. Still holding one of N'Jadaka’s legs at an angle, his eyes intent on the way N'Jadaka’s hole contracts around empty space. N'Jadaka looks up from where his eyes watch T'Challa’s hand on his own cock. N’Jadaka sighs, frustration giving way to sardonic humor. 

“So it’s like that… huh.” 

T'Challa’s answering smirk makes N'Jadaka’s heart lurch and his cock twitch, feeble from all the false starts. 

“I will have you when I am ready.”

N'Jadaka groans but waits. He relaxes into each press of T'Challa’s hard cock, each time the feeling growing a bit deeper but not nearly enough. If T'Challa hadn’t eaten him out for what felt like hours he might have teased the man now by clenching the way he knew would force T’Challa to fuck him properly. But at this point he’s fucked out and tired. So he lets himself go pliant, each time T'Challa presses in, allowing the man to dominate him fully. On the end of what initially feels to N’Jadaka like a particular shallow thrust, T'Challa finally gives him what he wants, pushing in all the way, surprising N'Jadaka and making him clench tightly around the man’s cock in response.

“It's a pity how long it takes to bring you down, you always take my cock so sweetly” 

N'Jadaka moans defeated at T'Challa’s words, grinding onto the man’s cock.

“Play too fucking much.”

Finally, finally, finally, T'Challa picks up the pace, fucking him with rhythmic strokes that press every so often against his prostate. He rocks with the motion, cock wet and hard against his stomach even as T'Challa fucks him with increasingly powerful strokes. 

“Please, need to come, come on —-’Challa wanna come on your cock —please...”

T'Challa responds with a sudden deep stroke that punches the breath out of N'Jadaka. Then stills, his cock still hard inside N'Jadaka.

“Three strokes N'Jadaka. If it takes you more to come, you won’t be allowed to come when Nakia joins us.” 

N'Jadaka almost cries. This was cruel and unusual punishment, and he would definitely cry if he couldn’t come after weeks without her. 

T'Challa gives a careful thrust, cock throbbing gently inside N'Jadaka.

“You can do it, you are already so close.” And he was. So goddamn close.

Another deep thrust, “Nakia is watching us. Don’t disappoint her.” 

Those words and T'Challa’s cock pressing so deep undoes N'Jadaka finally. He comes in two strokes, clenching rhythmically around T'Challa. The orgasm long awaited is just as painful as he’d expected. T'Challa fucks him through it, slowing not long after and stilling for his own release. He doesn’t pull out immediately, hands trailing down N'Jadaka’s body, rubbing and teasing. 

N'Jadaka moans and bodily pushes T'Challa’s hands away. Slowly, the other man pulls out, come and lube slipping out of N'Jadaka’s fucked out hole.

“Fuck get away from me, you two planned this didn’t you?”

T'Challa’s unapologetic smile confirms his suspicions, though N'Jadaka realizes he’s not too angry with the man, just annoyed that he once again was played so expertly.

“Nakia better hurry up and finish whatever she’s doing because I’m coming for her. Round two, let’s go.” T'Challa laughs and moves to hand him a towel from a nearby bin. 

“She is on her way.”

N'Jadaka takes the towel and rolls gingerly on top of it. Allowing the mess of come and lube to drip onto the towel. He would be ready to go again in a few minutes, and he would definitely be repaying both of his devious lovers.


End file.
